


Mostly Nostalgic

by orphan_account



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, first fic, fluff only in flash backs though, really frikin angsty sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10476552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Five days after Erin's death, Holtzmann is handed a memory album. (Based on many prompts Woops)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holy moly buckle up. I've never written for this fandom so please correct me on any mis-characterization, and i haven't read over this yet so please feel free to correct me on grammar. (And yes ok there are a lot of lower case i's, I guess my lazy self expected auto-correct to fix it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) **PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THERE ARE MENTIONS OF TOUCHY-DEATHY SUBJECTS SO PLEASE PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO THAT!

It had been five days since the world lost Erin Gilbert, five days, which felt so long but it didn’t. And Jillian Holtzmann was fine, really, but she wasn’t. How could she be? What was she supposed to feel, what besides that horrid aching numb, when she bought two donuts at the shop out of habit? When she found something funny, and looked to see her reaction? How could she be okay when she reached over at night and her side of the bed was as cold and dead as Holtzmann felt and as Erin really was? How was she supposed to feel without the love of her life? 

The last question had bothered her since she’d met Erin. How would I live without her? How could I ever? It was with a bitter laugh that Holtzmann thought about how ignorant she’d been then; Of course she wouldn’t ever have to live without her! Erin was her soulmate, how foolish to even fathom an existence without the beautiful, intelligent, amazing person that is her girlfriend? And then, there she was, sinking into a chair Gilbert had bought her on her 33rd birthday, mulling over the past, on the constant brink of tears. It was embarrassing, but when was Jillian Goddamn Holtzmann prone to embarrassment? 

Maybe she wasn’t so much Jillian Holtzmann these days.

So it’d been five days. Maybe she should’ve been over it, even if Patty kept calmly insisting that “No one gets over this shit that soon, girl. Don’t you know we’re sad too? Don’t you think me and Abby are pissed that she’s gone?” These words were quietly whispered at an unmoving Holtzmann, still holed up in the soft cushions of that so-comfy chair, the one Jillian told herself that she took refuge there because it was a beautiful paradise of a sitting arrangement and definitely not because it reminded her of the gift-giver who introduced her to the thing. Patty ended up attempting to conceal a scoff, decidedly giving up on comforting a brick wall of a person. Holtz didn’t know if she was relieved or upset over the loss of her friend’s attention in a time like this, and surely it didn’t matter because surely she had other things to think about. But she shouldn’t think about those other things because all they do are make her want to sink further into the chair, further into herself, and further into nonexistence. 

One thing, however, did draw her out of her constant haze of nostalgia. Or depression. Or whatever she was experiencing, because staying isolated for five days doesn’t give much room to visit the doctor. Abby had entered her space especially carefully with that look on her face, a thick binder setting in her twitching fingers. Holtzmann made note to mentally scold herself later for making her friends feel this way - so jumpy and unsure around her. She was too exhausted to do it in that moment. Yates’ voice broke when she spoke up. “I, uh … The funeral’s tomorrow, and I was--” She sighed, blinked, and a tear or two fell in quick droplets, “I was looking through some of her stuff and I found this. It should make you feel a little better about … Yeah.” The binder found its way into Holtzmann’s lap and as soon as she’d entered Abby was gone. Jillian was shaking, like really shaking, and (shamefully) the only metaphor she could think of in that moment was that she felt like a huge, bright purple, vibrating dildo. The funeral. The word was screaming itself in her mind, bouncing around in her skull like a loose spring. The funeral! The funeral! Tomorrow! The funeral, tomorrow! It’s tomorrow! Did you get that it’s tomorrow? Then, suddenly, images of black clothes, tears and random sniffling, a casket. A casket, an open one, because when you die by pill your body’s still pretty enough to look at. Like you’re asleep. And it’d be filled with an empty corpse that wasn’t Erin, it wasn’t her, because that corpse couldn’t make Jillian feel like she could rule the world, like she’d live forever. That body would be just what it was: A body. 

Would she come back as a ghost? The idea was vivid, the four - three - would get a call, a Class IV entity haunting somewhere so generically Erin like the Library or her favorite restaurant. Holtz would be the first on scene, locking eyes with the widest eyes and it would all be okay. The blonde wouldn’t ask why she did it. Everything would be okay, and Erin would be the one ghost she never busted, and Holtzmann would be so utterly touched because she was enough to make Erin stay behind. Why wasn’t she enough to make her stay the first time? 

The hope passed before it started and there she was, back to distressing over the funeral, because funerals made it so real. They also made the person’s death so impersonal; Jillian knew that the the Mayor would be there. Jennifer Lynch would be there. Phil would be there. Erin’s ex-coworkers. So many people that didn’t give a damn about her before, that still didn’t. People that used their time with Erin to make her feel like she was less, unworthy. Funerals made things final.

She was still shaking when her hands drifted to either side of the binder. It was simple, a piece of computer paper slipped in the front saying only two things: Fondest Memories. It was typed in a cute little font Jillian couldn’t identify, but it was neat and pretty. A small coffee cup was doodled carefully in the bottom right of the paper with little lines of steam drifting from the top. The idea of Erin eyeing the paper closely, a black pen in hand, carefully drawing with her bottom lip suked into her mouth. She’d probably be paying way more attention to that one detail than she maybe should. Erin always would do that. Jillian opened the binder, at last. 

The first page was the table of contents. Except, instead of the curly pink font that had been on the cover, it was hand-written. She was ashamed when she had to stop for a moment, because having to recover from seeing the handwriting of a dead person wasn’t exactly a sign of being on the fastroad to A-Okay land. It only had a few sections: the names of some people Holtz recognized - the Ghostbusters - and a couple she didn’t. She noticed two things, immediately. First, holy hell were there a lot of pages in that binder, and second, the ‘Jillian Holtzmann’ category had two… subcategories? Pre-Girlfriend, page 65-66 and Girlfriend, page 67-84. She turned to page 67. There was a long, hand-written passage neatly scrawled on the lined paper describing a day Jillian remembered vividly. It was the day Jillian had worked up the courage to ask Erin out.

1.

The day had been especially stormy, rain washing its soothing song over New York. The two had been in the lab, Erin sitting on the near the window with her forehead pressed against it and Holtzmann not too far away fidgeting with a little toy she’d invented. There was a subtle calm over the two, a comfort that always seemed nearby when they were together. More than once soft blue eyes drifted towards the redhead, thoughts about how perfect of a match the two would be flittering around in her mind.

Yeah, Holtzmann had a huge, world-breaking crush on the physicist and apparently everyone knew except for Erin herself. Part of Holtz wished that Erin would just notice so that she wouldn’t have to grow some balls and tell her. 

“What would you think if a friend liked you?” She managed suddenly, wincing mentally at the way she sounded less smooth than a twelve year old boy asking a girl to formal. 

Erin looked at her. A beat of silence. “What?”

"Clearing her throat a little, she persisted in her admission. “Well, I mean, how would you feel if a friend liked you in a way that wasn’t … Work appropriate?”

By then the older of the two had been colored pink, her eyes focused on the floor. Holtz expected her to hole up, insist that this was all probably a joke that the rest were in on. Instead, she said a quiet, “Depends.”

“Uh,” She could barely talk over her own smile, a large, manic smile, “What if this friend is an extremely sexy blonde? She’s the best at making homemade pizza, and the second hottest Ghostbuster?” Erin had stood up during that sentence, and she was very close, very fast. Holtz’s heart quickened. Everything was quiet, and the rain filled the air again. She blinked and so did Erin, and suddenly lips were on hers. There was a kiss so soft left on Holtzmann’s lips that she wasn’t sure it even happened. Then they locked eyes and everything in her ears turned to static, white noise and she knew this was happening, it had to. She breathed in so quickly and deeply she thought she’d explode and crashed right into Erin.

God it felt right.

Jillian somehow got pushed against the wall with the other woman flushed right against her. It was exhilarating; Teeth cut against each other and their tongues - oh God the tongues - were doing magnificent things. The kiss stopped and as Holtz started to go back for seconds flaming hands were going up her T-shirt and the world stopped turning when fingers brushed on the underside of her breast and -

“We should - Do you think - Stop?” Erin breathed, her fingers stilling. 

“Do you want to?”  
Erin shook her head silently. The rain kept pouring and Holtzmann kept falling.

A faint blush painted Holtz’s cheeks when she finished reading. Maybe she was crying, maybe she didn’t care. It was heartstopping. The passage was long and filled with an unimaginable amount of detail about the moment - more detail than she could even remember and it absolutely took away her breath. She wasn’t even sure how to feel. Maybe sad. Mostly nostalgic. Then there were a few more! They were specific accounts of such trivial moments that Holtzmann couldn’t help but read every single one.

 

2.

The morning had been nippy and while Holtzmann was no fan of the cold, she couldn’t decline when her girlfriend invited her to walk around in Central Park. She’d fallen hard, hadn’t she? So there they were, chilled hands clasped together walking in the park like it wasn’t negative-one-million-deg--

Erin stopped suddenly, stepping away from Holtzmann (who immediately recoiled from the loss of contact) and planting her hands on her hips. “Holtzmann. It is not that cold.”

“You’ve got me mixed up with someone, sweet-cheeks, because I haven’t said anything,” Holtz said in a bad accent, raising her hands up in innocence. Then, she added in a mumble, “And, it is that cold.”

“Yeah, like I didn’t hear you complaining under your breath since we left the car,” She countered with fake annoyance. She grabbed Jillian’s hand then and pulled the blonde back against her. Finally some warmth was restored! Jillian smiled largely, (She’d been doing that an awful lot lately) leaning her head against Erin’s shoulder as the pair walked. Even the horrid cold couldn’t take away the semi-bliss she felt around the other woman.

“I wasn’t complaining about you, y’know. Or this walk. This walk is great.” She paused, glancing in a direction. Holtz pointed at two ducks walking side by side. “Plus, look over there, this place has gay ducks.”

Erin let out a single ‘ha’ and said “Same,” before asking, “Wait, how do you know they’re gay? What are you, some … duck expert?”

“Look at the color of their feathers, Er-Bear. They’re all bright and pretty for mating, and that’s a guy duck thing. And, no, I am no duck expert. Women expert, maybe, and engineering extraordinaire, but not a duck expert. I used to really like them as a kid.”

“Really?” Erin asked with a grin. Somehow she’d ended up sitting on a bench and motioned for Holtzmann to sit by her. “Jillian Holtzmann had a thing for ducks?”

She shrugged, taking her seat by Erin. It was stone and thus cold, and she struggled not to visibly cringe when she touched it. Erin noticed anyways and sat her jacket down on the seat. Much better.

“I mean, I dunno. I was a kid, that was my thing. All kids have a thing. Didn’t you have a thing?”

“Ghosts,” Erin said immediately, and then shook her head. “Sorry. I’m not trying to make this all depressing or wave around my school-life tragedies but … That’s all I can really remember from school, i guess.”

Jillian paused, reaching her arm around Erin’s shoulder. “Well, don’t you have at least one good memory? It can’t all be bad. Like, i didn’t have the easy road in middle school, but the highlight of my time there was when i snuck a screwdriver into class. When my teacher stepped out i took my desk apart.” There was a thoughtful, mischievous grin at the end of her sentence. “So, any good memories?”

The redhead just shrugged. “This is a good memory,” She said with a small smile, in a genuine tone, but Holtzmann knew it was a deflection no matter if she meant it or not.

“Erin,” She accused, eyebrows raised, “Tell me. Tell me what you’re thinking about, Missy.”

The other held Holtz’s gaze for only a moment before cracking. “Jill, it’s embarrassing!”

“Erin, sweetie, I’m really sure it’s not, because things that are embarrassing to you are things I do on a daily basis.”

“Alright, well, it’s not really something that should be my best childhood memory … I was in third grade and used the word ‘Ambivalence’ so everyone thought I was really smart for, like, two weeks,” She said with a shrug.  
“Come on, there’s gotta be more to that! How’s that even embarrassing? It’s just … Tiny Erin being the intellectual that is current Erin!”

“You - You don’t know where i learned the word!” She was blushing faintly. To the side Holtz wondered if she were to call Erin out on the blushing that she’d blame the cold. “I was playing around in a dictionary. You know. Looking for .. curse words. Specifically the word Ass.”

“Oh. My. God. You didn’t! Wow. You were quite the rebel, my sweet warrior. No, seriously, Erin, all kids do that. All of ‘em. Promise.”

“I felt really bad about it, though!” She whined, “My parents were strict about those kinds of things. They’d always tell me, “Don’t treat the tools like toys!” and a dictionary is, in fact, a tool.” The conversation ended and Holtz felt herself cuddling into her girlfriend on the icy bench.

“I thought you were gonna tell me something embarrassing, though. Like you peed your pants while singing Twinkle Twinkle in front of your class and they started calling you ‘Tinkle Tinkle’ for the rest of the year. Or something.” Holtzmann said after they went silent for a few minutes.

“Okay, first of all, that wouldn’t be a good memory. It’d be traumatic. Second, that didn’t happen to you, right? It’s really specific.” Jillian shook her head.

“Nope. Just a thought.” She looked up at Erin (Her head had somehow managed to lie in the woman’s lap.) “I love you.”

It was the first time she’d said it, but without missing a beat, Erin replied,

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Literally every 'memory' in this is based on a fluffy prompt and the entire thing is based on a prompt. Every prompt is from here http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/ so see which ones you recognize c: (oh except for the part where holtzy tells erin how she feels. That was entirely me thus why it's so bad and cheesy :p) There are one or two more chapters coming. I was just really ready to slap this thing online :/


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